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User blog:Tesla Man/Brooklyn Gladiator (SM's Competition)
He scrambles to get to his feet, his jeans are ripped and his gun is missing from his hip. The New York rooftops are unforgiving, the colossal structures of iron room over the city streets hundreds of feet in the air, the citizens of this city don’t give a damn what’s going on up top, and the people up top couldn’t give two shits about what’s going on in the ground. The wind whistles in my ear and it brings me peace, something that I can only find up here, but for Antoine Garret –Officer Garret- its hell to him. The high pitched squeals of the stratosphere ring through his ears and cause him to panic and lower himself to the ground to keep his balance, something you learn in officer training. They call me the Brooklyn Gladiator, God put me in this arena that is New York City to fight the lions that are corrupt officers, thugs, and murderers. It’s my duty and my destiny and I learned that a long time ago. I draw my sword from my belt, a soft but solid nightstick, I fix my armor, pulling the straps tighter on my bulletproof vest, and I remove my helmet, dropping the motorcycle helmet to the rooftop. I take my first swing, raising my baton like a golf club in the air with one hand as the lion roars, his screams ring out across the rooftops, and I roar back, knowing that the people on the ground don’t give a damn. I hit him once, his face turns blue quickly- he bruises easily. I swing again, slamming his skull to the ground with a thud. I stand on his throat, my combat boots digging into his windpipe like a dumbbell. “How much is she paying?” I yell into his face. He whimpers and I step off of his throat. “Tell me.” I mutter, kicking him closer to the edge of the building. “Ten… Ten Grand.” He cries out and I laugh at him. He’s weak and a rat, and I have no respect for him. By the end of the fifth minute on the rooftop I had turned this lion into a mouse, and mice get exterminated. I swing my leg back and rush it forward with the force of a soccer player, wailing him over the edge. He’s still alive by the time he hits the ground, several ropes suspended between the building next door and this one break most of his fall, but he’s broken, and he’s broken badly. “Heh.” I turn around, kicking a cinderblock off the rooftop, and keep walking once I hear the thunk of it hitting his body and crack of his skull breaking its fall. Officer Garret wouldn’t have lasted long, once Chief Creek heard about him snitching, she’d have him killed on the spot, and I saved her the trouble. Police Chief Creek never liked me, regardless of how many drugstore crooks I’ve killed or rapists I’ve slaughtered. She wanted to look good for the mob, and I, a former officer, killing their employees didn’t bode well for them or her. I didn’t know I was the target after word on the street told me she was looking for a hit man, but the minute Officer Carisco and Long got me cornered in an alleyway and I smashed Long’s head in with my boot about a month ago I put the pieces together. I walk home a few rooftops down the street, one safety ladder into an abandoned parking lot, and into a trailer for an 18-wheeler. It’s got a mattress on the ground and photos pinned to the wall, and a lamp hanging from the ceiling. It’s not the greatest home in the world, but for a cop on the run it’s a mansion. I rip a yellowed piece of paper from a notepad and I shut the door to the trailer, flicking on the lamp. I scribble out the amount of $10,000 and I chuckle in offense. “$10,000?” I chuckle a little more “Only 10,000? Well fuck her too!” I drop to the mattress and pull the motorcycle helmet off of my head and lift the vest off of my torso, leaning my nightstick against the wall. I scratch off three names: Lee, Hemsworth, and Douglas, all possible hit men whom I know wouldn’t bother with a job only paying 10,000. That leaves two: Bender and Carias, one a low life thug, another a lowlife officer, both the last ones on the list Officer Carisco let slip for me before I snapped his neck 180 degrees. They were easy jobs, find them, pull them to a rooftop, and kill them there, simple. Then I go for Creek. I get my rest and stand back up, letting the moonlight seep into the trailer as I step out the door. I slide my helmet over my head and I prepare for the night ahead with a deep breath and a thick cigar. I mount my motorcycle and crack my neck, ripping at the handlebar, twisting it until my front wheel lifts off the ground, slowly planting itself back on the asphalt as I run out of parking lot. I twist the handlebar swiftly to the rights as my front wheel turns the entire bike to the right in one violent motion, ripping shrubs out of the thick cracks in the pavement. I rush down an alleyway and out of the abandoned factory district and into the center of Brooklyn, rushing past homeless as they sit in the shadow of the penthouses where the rich whores are partying on a Saturday night. Police cars rush past me and take a sharp left down to the resting place of Officer Garrett. My police radio on my belt screams through the rush of traffic and wind about the dead officer, and more troopers drive past me. The radio annoys me, telling me about things I already know – already did – so I switch it off. I take a few more turns and rush into an alleyway, dismounting my bike and running out into the public sidewalks. A homeless man leaning up against the brick wall outside the alleyway is holding a newspaper, the black ink prints out the words, “Gladiator’s Death Count Rises”, a picture of Officers Carisco and Long under the heading. I rip it out of his hand and toss it into the trash bin and he stares at me, his mouth gaping wide. I approach a hole in the ground and take the steps down, a subway sign above me as my boots clap against the concrete stairs. The yellow and white tiles reflect the light from the surface into the Chambers Street subway station. The station has been abandoned for years, now infested by rats, roaches, homeless, and Drake. Drake was an informant of mine, he lived down in the subway and gave information to the cops and I and sold things down here to the homeless who were sleeping at the base of the stairs. “You looking for Carias?” a voice whispered from the tracks. “Yeah, how’d you know?” I call down to him, my voice echoes through the abandoned tunnel and some homeless stirred in their makeshift beds. “He came by here just a while ago. I tried to call you on channel 6 but you didn’t respond.” Drake hopped onto the platform. I pulled the radio from my belt and switched it back on. “Fixed it.” I latched it back onto my belt. “Was he looking for me?” “Yeah, he came down here right after the police radio said there was a dead officer on Malcolm X and Hasley Street.” He twitched a bit, “He held me at gunpoint. I told him you haven’t been responding to me recently.” He twirled his radio around in his hand. “Which is true.” “He’s coming to kill me, Chief Creek put a hit out.” I grunted. “I know that. $10,000 dollars- seems a little low.” Drake sat on the edge of the platform swinging his legs down into the tracks. “How do you know that?” I stared at him for a little bit until he chuckled. “It’s amazing what you could learn from me if you kept your radio on.” He switched his radio on as officers blared over the radio about Officer Garrett. “Did he tell you where he was going?” I jumped down onto the tracks. “He uh…” He twitched a bit more. “He never left.” Drake whispered. The tunnels rang with the sharp sound of a bullet and Drake dropped face first onto the tracks. Officer Carias leapt from the ground behind me as the sleeping homeless around him scrambled awake and ran up the stairs. His gun was smoking and his deadly precision exterminated Drake like a fly. This is the lion I’ve been looking for. I never carried a gun on me, only my nightstick. If I needed a gun I would take it from my enemies which is what I planned for the officer. I launched my nightstick at him overhanded with the aim of a baseball pitcher and it knocked him in the right shoulder and with a crack his collarbone stuck out of his chest. I ran up to him and kicked him in the face sending his gun flying across the station. With his left arm he grabbed his nightstick and bashed me over the head with it as I tackled him to the ground. I wrestled the nightstick out of his hands and he kicked me in the stomach, a small knife tapped to his black shoes planted itself into my bulletproof vest and he tried again with his left foot, barely missing my arm. He ripped his foot out of my chest and I jumped for the gun and he charged me and I fired. Being the top of my class I sent the bullet right through his neck, above his bulletproof vest, severing his jugular with a rip. I stood, my forehead bled from the nightstick and I felt dizzy. I stumbled to the exit, and clapped my boots back up the concrete stairs, a crowd of homeless surrounding me with their mouths wide open. I hobbled over to the alleyway and grabbed my motorcycle and backed it up and off the street and for the second time that night twisting at the right handle and lurching forward, but this time away from home, down towards East New York Avenue. I parked outside Brooklyn’s 73rd Precinct, and approached the front doors with Officer Carias’ pistol strapped to my belt. Most of the cars were missing from the garages, meaning there were only a few officers to deal with before I break into Creek’s office, simple. I twisted the bronze handle and stepped into my home, smelling the air of a hundred year history of the building and raised my helmet visor to get a deeper appreciation for my old office building. Right in the front, Officer Sisini was at his desk, working on paperwork alone when he turned his head. I reached out for his skull and placed my nightstick onto his desk and smashed his head down onto it, cracking his skull. If that didn’t kill him, it sure as hell gave him brain damage. I picked my stick back up and slipped it back into its sheath, drawing my gun again. I walked into the next room, and saw Officers Anzovina and Hernandez finishing up locking a criminal into a holding cell. I ran up behind Henandez and grabbed his mouth, shoving my gun into his back and firing it, the gun silenced by his body and the shrapnel of the bullet spraying into Anzovina’s face. I lowered Hernandez to the ground as Anzovina grunted while holding his bleeding face. I transferred my pistol into my other hand and clenched my fist and hammer punched him to the ground, smashing his head against the wooden wall. I bent down and picked the keys up from his belt and walked up to the holding cells where criminals gazed in silence at the murder of their captors. I slid the iron key into the first man-cage and twisted it, sliding it open, releasing the criminals, continuing the process with each of the ten holding cells until I reached the eleventh and last one, where one single captive at on his bench and with a turn of his head towards me, my last hit man – Bender. Most likely put there by Officer Carias for the chance at the cash. I smirked and turned around and walked out of the room as he placed his head back in his hands as the robbers and muggers ran out of the front doors. I approached the back of the building past a row of office doors until I reached the end of the hallway where Police Chief Creek was reading a stack of papers, shaking her head. Raising my gun to her I released a shell from my gun and a bullet flew towards her at point blank range, hitting the papers out of her hand. I hopped onto her desk and held her head in my hands and slammed it down onto the wooden platform I was crouched on. I grabbed her radio and tuned into the police station. “Call off the hit.” I growled, my cigar stained breath filled her nostrils and she coughed. “NOW” I throw her head back and out of her chair, onto the ground, tossing the radio onto her injured body. I walk over and crouch down eye to eye with her, resting the barrel of my gun to her temple, the cold steel sent a wave of fear down her body, but she was good at hiding it. She stared back at me with cold eyes and pressed her thumb down onto the radio, taking a breath to speak. “Officer-” My vision goes dark, a ringing in my ears echoes around my head and I can’t move. I hear faint talking behind me, a conversation between two people, their unintelligible sounds start to slow down in my mind, blending together and my body goes numb. Bender lowers his gun. ---- Category:Blog posts